As long as you're dancing, you can break the rules.

In my own work, I usually revise through forty or fifty drafts of a poem before I begin to feel content with it.

Attention is the beginning of devotion.

When the blackberries hang swollen in the woods, in the brambles nobody owns, I spend all day among the high branches, reaching my ripped arms, thinking of nothing, cramming the black honey of summer into my mouth; all day my body accepts what it is. In the dark creeks that run by there is this thick paw of my life darting among the black bells, the leaves; there is this happy tongue.

Every day I see or hear something that more or less kills me with delight, that leaves me like a needle in the haystack of light.

Maybe the world, without us, is the real poem.

Things take the time they take. don't worry. How many roads did St. Augustine follow before he became St. Augustine?